


Caught in the Grey

by KrazyKeke



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Black Character(s), Black Reader, F/M, Infidelity, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Strippers & Strip Clubs, T'Challa is a stripper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyKeke/pseuds/KrazyKeke
Summary: All of us make mistakes. The key is to acknowledge them, learn, and move on. The real sin is ignoring mistakes, or worse, seeking to hide them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know I don't own anything except the storyline, but unfortunately, I have to reiterate this occasionally.

**See You Latte Joint  
April 27th, 2016  
** **2:20 P.M.**

You glanced at your watch for the nth time. Tapping the sole of your shoe and then looked hopefully at the entrance door every time the little bell jingled, signifying a new customer had arrived. 

And each time, you became more and more despondent as it wasn’t the person you expected to see. 

“Ms. [Last Name], would you like another refill on your decaf strawberries and creme frappucino?” The waiter inquired, having noticed that your drink was getting rather low. 

You’d been here for fifteen minutes. 

“Yes, please…” For a moment, you floundered, wracking your brain. “…Joey. Thank you.” There’s a distracted air surrounding you and you glance at the door again, unable to help yourself.

The waiter, Joey, lingered for a moment, uncertain. Wrestling with himself. “Ms. [Last Name]?”

Letting out a quiet hum, you tear your eyes away from the door back to the boy. “Yes? Something wrong?”

Licking his lips, Joey exhaled. “I probably shouldn’t get in your business because my boss would have a fit, but… Mr. [Last Name], I don’t think he’s coming.” There’s a minute pause and now that he’s gotten that out, it’s like he has word vomit or something because he. can’t. stop. talking. “You’ve been coming here a long time and you’re always really, really nice. And pretty. And down to earth.”

“Joey…”

“And your husband, he’s really…not…nice to you. He always looks really, really bored or impatient but the other guy you brought once, the one with the accent?  _He_ was nice and attentive, and I know it’s not my business, but I–”

“Joey.” Your tone is faint, strained and blessedly, he stopped talking. “…Thank you for expressing your input. It’s appreciated and noted.” 

“Please don’t tell my boss.”

You chuckled, reaching out and patted his hand. “There’s nothing to tell.” You say with an easy nonchalance. “Can I have my order to go, instead, please?”

Joey nodded, relieved. “Yes ma’am. Right away!”

Once you have your order, you walk out the cafe door, taking small sips of the beverage and fishing in your purse for your car keys. Joey’s words reverberating in your ears, you press the unlock button and the doors open. 

You place the drink in the cup holder and get inside. 

Digging through your purse, you yank out your cellphone and fire off a few quick texts before tossing the contraption onto the seat, inserting the car key in the ignition and listened to the car purr to life, looking to see if anyone was pulling up behind you before driving off the lot of the cafe. Ten minutes into the drive to your destination, and your cellphone buzzes, alerting you to an incoming text. Figuring that it was your husband, you ignore it. Or try, because more text messages keep popping up, making your cellphone light up and vibrate across the passenger seat. 

Parked at a red light, waiting for the light to turn green, you grab the cellular device, swiping the screen with your thumb and the texts pop up immediately. 

The last few messages you don’t get to read because something slams into your car - hard, from behind, causing you to lose your grip on the device as your car is pushed forward. Pushing your foot hard on the brake, you try and hold your ground but it’s no use. Looking in the rear-view mirror, you note the car that’s pushing yours is a hot pink color, and the words ‘Come to Mami!’ are splashed tackily across the hood. 

**HONK-HONK!**

Glancing to the right, you belatedly realize that a truck is speeding right in your direction and you say fuck this, struggling to get the seat-belt off. It takes two seconds too long and you lunge outside the window on the driver’s side. Just in time too as the truck hit the left side of your car and you wince at the crunch of metal and glass as the superior vehicle destroyed the smaller car, pushing the machine for several blocks, letting off little sparks. 

There’s a sound of a car door being slammed shut and you hear the click-click-click of heels on the asphalt as the individual came closer. A pretty brown skinned woman with long braids to her shoulders, hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose, looked down at you with a smug little smile.

“I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, didn’t you?”

You didn’t say anything, just tried to sit up, crawl away, anything, but she put her heeled foot on your chest, keeping your pinned in place. 

“T’Challa is mine and I told you to stay away from him but you didn’t listen to my warning, did you, bitch?” There’s a glint of something metallic in her hands and you realize that it’s a switchblade. 

You are going to die out here, all alone if you don’t do something. 

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit…’ Mind racing, as she leaned down to stab you, your mouth opened. “I’m not seeing him!” You blurt, the woman paused. “I haven’t talked to him in months, Mimi. I swear to God. He cut all ties with me because…”

“Because?” Mimi demanded, hand lowering. 

Deciding to take the chance, you lunge up, tackling her around the middle. The two of you rolled around, you fighting for survival, her fighting to end you. 

It was madness. 

This entire thing was madness. 

You’d never been in such a situation before in your life, until a few months ago, when you met T’Challa Udaku, that’s when everything very quickly and suddenly changed.


	2. Chapter One

**2:45 P.M.** **  
April 27th, 2016  
** **Prestige Field Center**

The sound of squeaky shoes on the polished floors is loud and distracting in the gymnasium. 

“Stay on’em, y’all, stay on’em.” Clapping encouragingly as he paced, standing at six feet even, dressed in red and gray sweat pants, a white t-shirt and a matching red and gray sweat jacket with a pair of Jordans on his feet, the coach of the boy’s basketball team made an attractive sight with his dreads and beard. “Dashaud, you open…you gotta pass…” 

The buzzer sounded just as as his teammate threw the ball, and the other teenage boy pulled off a somewhat flashy three pointer, basketball sinking through the net with a ‘ _swish_!’ 

“And the winners are the [insert basketball team name]!” 

Juju on That Beat started blasting through the speakers as friends, family, and more started charging off the bleachers to run towards the team, shouting congratulations and cheering. Somebody lifted up the teen that had made the winning shot, he had a trophy in his hold and held it up high. Almost in a herd like fashion, they started for the exit.

The opposing team’s coach, a middle aged white guy, with the beginnings of a beer belly, approached, a reluctant smile on his face. “Good game, Stevens.” And then he stretched his hand out for a shake. 

“Nah, I’m good. Ion shake hands wit losers.” With a two finger salute and mocking smile, he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Way to be petty, Stevens!”

“Thanks!” He shot back over his shoulder. Glancing forward, he saw that two people lingered in the gymnasium, a man and an older woman, both were black. “Hey, auntie.” Greeting her with a hug and a peck on the cheek, then jerked his head in a sort of nod at the other male, “Wassup?”

Nodding curtly, hands in his pockets, “N’Jadaka.” 

“The two of you are still not on speaking terms?” The question is rhetoric and the woman, N’Jadaka’s aunt, sighed near silently. “T’Challa, my darling son, N’Jadaka, my beautiful nephew–”

T’Challa interjected. “Why is he the beautiful one? Have I become ugly to you, Mother?”

Never one to pass up on the opportunity to throw some shade, “Yea, nigga, you ugly as shit!”

There’s a sharp whistling sound before things can get anymore heated. The two men looked between them to see that the woman had her fingers in her mouth and wore a faintly annoyed expression. “We are all family. And family stays together,” The firm tone she’s using made certain that there wouldn’t be any further interruptions. “Now shake hands or hug.” 

“Ion wanna hug this ni…” When a scalding look is sent in his direction, N’Jadaka grimaced. Glancing at T’Challa who’s looking at him expectantly, hand outstretched. Sighing, he reached out and clasped hands with T’Challa, who jerked him forward into a half hug, thumping him several times on the back. 

“I am sorry I called you a jerk and selfish ingrate!”

“A’ight… a’ight, man, lemme go!” 

“And that I added diarrhea pills to your morning milkshake three days ago. I was feeling vindictive. I am so sorry, cousin!” 

“That was you?!” N’Jadaka is incredulous. 

Ramonda isn’t paying either of them a lick of attention. Instead, she’d migrated to where there’s a gym bag and a cellphone sat innocuously on the bench. The cellular device buzzed and lit up, signifying an incoming call. Turning her head, she sees that the boys are still horsing around, so she picks up the phone, enters the password and answers, “Hello, Ms. Bates, good afternoon and how are you?” Listening to the reply, she frowns. “Hold…hold on…just hold on, honey. Don’t hang up.” Pressing the phone to her chest, she raises her voice, “Boys…” They’re still carrying on. “ _Boys_!” That got their attention. 

“Ms. Bates is on the phone.”

N’Jadaka perked up and finally shoved T’Challa off. “Taccarra? Forreal?!” Rushing over, he slowed to a stop, brushing his hand over his clothes to get rid of imaginary wrinkles, then took the phone from Ramonda. “Hey, ‘Carra. O-Oh, right, right. Ms. Bates.” Sniffing, he tried to effect a nonchalant tone, “So, what’s good?” There’s a pause and his countenance shifted to something more serious. “…What? Nah, not Y/N. Oh, word?”

T’Challa had been wandering over, more curious about the commotion, but when Y/N’s name is mentioned, he stiffens for a few seconds before his features, so open and relaxed, shifted to something more neutral and closed off. 

N’Jadaka looks at his cousin. “Bet.” Then hangs up the phone.

Silence lingers for a few moments.

“What’s going on?” Ramonda inquires when it’s clear that T’Challa won’t.

“Ya girl’s in trouble, bruh.” Holding up a hand, forestalling interruptions. “And before you go and say you don’t care about the chick, just remember how angst-y that you been actin’ around the crib.”

Crossing his arms together, T’Challa tried to appear stern. “I do not know what you mean. Besides, she made it clear to me that she would work it out…” His nose wrinkled. “With her husband.”

“She was fighting Mimi.” N’Jadaka said bluntly. “They both locked up and it look like ol’ boy ain’t gon get her out. You really gon let her sit up there with hardened criminals?” T’Challa said nothing. “That’s cold, cuz.”

“You are just trying to earn brownie points with Taccarra, otherwise–”

N’Jadaka cut him off. “I don’t like her husband or her family, nah. They bougie and shady and grimy as fuck. My feelings or lack thereof regarding that bunch don’t mean I’m lumpin’ Y/N in wit’em, she a’ight, I see that now. An’ you seen it too, otherwise you wouldn’t be all up in ya feelings like you been for the past month.”

Ramonda reached out and patted T’Challa’s hand. “Go, my son.” He looked at her questioningly and she smiled. “Go on, go get the woman you love before it’s too late.”

“We rode here together, Mama…” 

“I’ll take her home.” N’Jadaka waved him off. “Stop making excuses and  _go_ , bruh.”

With that final assurance and his mother’s encouragement, T’Challa turned on his heel and ran for the exit. 

Ramonda sighed wistfully, “I enjoy a good love story.” 

**Crimson Cove Detention Center  
4:04 P.M.  
April 27, 2016**

“I’ma fuck yo ass up when I get outta here, bitch.”

You opened your eyes slightly. “Don’t worry, I still got a whole can of pepper spray witcho name on it. So if that’s what you about, you wanna get pepper sprayed again,  _please_ try me.”

Today was just the many firsts. First time you’d been in a fist fight (as an adult), first time you’d been handcuffed and processed. The police officers recognized you, or at the least knew your mother, so they’d put you and Mimi in separate holding cells, she fit right in with the other inmates, while you were alone, thankfully. 

“Narc ass, weak ass, lame ass, duck ass, stupid b–”

You closed your eyes again, tuning her out and lightly dozing. The next time you open your eyes, still alert and unable to relax in this foreign and hostile environment, there’s an officer inserting a key into the lock of your holding cell and behind him is a face that you’d never thought you’d see again.

“What are you doing here?”

T’Challa hefted one shoulder in a shrug, hands in his pockets. “Quite a way to say thank you.” 

For a moment, you considered being stubborn. Then you recalled that today is Friday and the prisoners would be moved upstate to a different facility, with even scarier criminals. “…Thank you.’’

“What about me, T’Challa? You bailin’ me out too, right, baby?” T’Challa ignored her. “T’Challa…” The officer grabbed you firmly by the upper elbow, steering you out of the cell, and down the hall. “T’Challa…T’Challa, don’t ignore meeeeeeeee–”

After getting your things back, you’re free to go. Catching the bus is out of the question, especially due to being in this specific county, you wouldn’t have enough bus-fare. You didn’t even have a cellphone to call either of your best friends to potentially come pick you up. 

“Get in the car.” T’Challa stated.

“Huh?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He pantomimed, and you felt embarrassment seep through you. Embarrassment that turned to annoyance and then anger. You wrench open the passenger’s side door, getting in and slamming it shut. T’Challa ignored your funky ass attitude, instead getting inside and starting the car before taking off. 

Observing the building as it got further and further away, you vowed never to go back to such a gloomy place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bail your little girlfriend out.” You say after about twenty minutes of silence during the drive. 

“Excuse me?”

Shut up, you should just shut up. “Mimi, your girlfriend.” You kept looking out the window, mouth all twisted up. “The girl that almost killed me so that she could keep you.” 

“She tried to…” he let out a quiet curse. “I am so, so sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t be sorry. Get a leash on ya bitch.” You retort. “We is not together and I’m tired of the Crazy Annie antics she be pulling.” 

“You didn’t let me finish.” T’Challa said calmly. “I’m sorry that you got caught up in her foolishness, but Mimi is unwell. We are not and have not, ever, been together. I’ve only spoken to her a total of two times at the club.” 

At the mention of the club, you became uncomfortable. “You don’t gotta explain.”

“Obviously, I do.” He shook his head. “I noticed she was a little…different.” he phrased delicately. “But I just thought she was shy at first. There was never any glaring sign that she’d do anything like attempted murder,”

“So I’m lyin’, huh?”

“But then I never obviously had any desire to take a client home. When I danced…” He sucked in a breath. “When I  _stripped_ at the club, it was just something I did for money and I kept it professional. Then you and your friends came in for that bachelorette party and it just snowballed from there. Nakia ended up firing her and I never was told the details of why.” There’s a minute pause. “I didn’t  _care_ why, because I was…happy.”

Heart skipping a beat, you didn’t turn your gaze away from the window. “Don’t.”

“And maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m projecting. But the time you spent with me…” The car stopped at a red light. “You were happy, too, weren’t you? I made you happy, even just a little bit?”

“Yes.” The word came out in a whisper practically, quiet.

“…And you…you…love me?”

Nothing but pain you’d brought this man. You had nothing to give, not yet, not until the divorce was final, but he looked so wrecked. So tired and hopeful and defeated. “…Yes.” 

T’Challa made an illegal U-turn and parked at an empty park, no one around for miles. Then got out of his seatbelt, leaned over, turned your chin so, so gently to face him. Taking in the sight of your tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes, falling down your chin. 

Then he used his thumb to wipe the tears away and kissed you. “Tell me again.”

“I love y–”

And then he kissed you again. And again. And again. Until it felt like your brain was melting and you lost track of time and things that are important. You are addicted. 

You’re completely, irrevocably in love. 

And for once, in years, your love was returned. 


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy gifs and a pic of an actual strip club. Woot-woot.

**January 1st, 2016  
714 Preston Street  
5:22 A.M.**

You’re sitting up in bed, blankets pooled around your hips. An assortment of pillows are lined against the headboard and propped up against your back, [Luvaglio ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2F1.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5gRCMQ4BV50%2FUoF76dpaOlI%2FAAAAAAAACWc%2FYX2N0w8cS_U%2Fs1600%2Fluvaglio-690x387.jpg&t=ODc4ZGM0MGM2N2M0Y2UwNDJhMDZjNmFmZDcxMDY3YzUxMTg3MGU1MyxrUDdvS1RFbA%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176393958595%2Fcaught-in-the-grey&m=1)laptop precariously balanced on top of your covered ankles while you sit in a cross legged position. 

The screen shows that you’re on the Tumblr website. 

Having already clicked on the pencil icon found to the far left of the screen, seven multi-colored bubbles appeared and you pressed the white bubble that said TEXT. A new screen popped up, and in the header section, it said TITLE and the body said Your Text Here. At the moment, your cursor remained blinking in the blank body section of the new post. Scritching at your cheek, you exhale and begin to type. 

Dear Woman,  
Sometimes  
You’ll just be too much woman.  
Too smart,  
Too beautiful,  
Too strong. 

Knock-Knock-Knock! The brisk knocks are the only warning you have. Quickly exiting out of the page after saving the work to the drafts folder, you pulled up a spreadsheet and rested your chin against your fist, eyes on the screen. 

“Mrs. Carter?” The woman entering the room is in her late forties, perhaps early fifties, not that anyone could easily tell as her melanin brown skin remained wrinkle free, her hair cut short in a black bob and posture excellent. “Mrs. Carter, you’re still hard at work in here…?”

“Today’s deal is important, Miss Grant.” Reaching out, you quickly relieve her of the tray filled with breakfast, murmuring a quiet thanks. “Once it’s complete, everyone’s getting a pay raise.” Unwrapping the linen napkin from around the eating utensils, while the older woman moved the laptop. Using the knife and fork, you began cutting a small triangle into the mini mountains of pancakes. “…Has Zahair turned up yet or called?”

“I haven’t seen him since he went out last night, Mrs. Carter.” You heaved a sigh and she kept her silence as you picked at your food, grumbling underneath your breath. “…Is there anything else, ma’am?”

You shake your head minutely, sipping at the orange juice. “I’m done. Couldn’t eat another bite.” 

“Ma’am?” You said nothing, turning away. “Food is important. Starving yourself–”

“Miss Ishawna, please!” You pressed your hands together. “Please, just… I’m not hungry.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I’m just not.”

“Okay then.” Reaching out, Ishawna picked up the tray and balanced it carefully as she opened the door and left out, closing the door gently as she did so. 

Standing up, you retrieve your laptop, re-opening a new page with Tumblr and entering your drafts folder immediately. Fingers flying across the keyboard, editing the post and prettying it up. The end result looked much better but it still wasn’t… it didn’t feel quite complete. 

Dear Woman,  
Sometimes  
You’ll just be too much woman.  
Too smart,  
Too beautiful,  
Too strong.   
Too much of something  
That makes a man feel like less of a man,  
Which will start making you feel like you have to be less of a  
woman. 

That had to wait though, since you had to shower and get dressed. So you closed the laptop after saving the draft once again. Stretching your arms up and then out, you heave yourself out of bed, slipping your feet into bed slippers then padding over to the bathroom.

**6:15 A.M.**

After taking a brisk shower and getting dressed, you mused to yourself that you’d be leading today’s presentation yourself in need be. Tilting your head to the side, you paused, halfway down the halls and near the stairs when you heard a small commotion. 

“You tellin’ me I can’t have whiskey with my coffee? Old lady, you trippin’!”

“Bro, just calm…. _I said **calm down**_!”

Looking heavenward, asking for strength, you continued the short trek until you reached the corner, standing at the top of the winding stairwell. Indeed, just as you hadn’t wanted, there was your brother in law, Jakobe, likely hungover and still chasing his next drink. He made an aggressive move towards Miss Grant, but the older woman didn’t even blink, her demeanor calm and unruffled. 

“If he wants to drink himself to death this morning, I say let him.” You descended the stairs one at a time, looking over the proceedings with aloofness. “ **We** ” Not missing a beat, you accepted the brown paper bag with leftover breakfast and a styrofoam cup of coffee. “Have business to handle.”

“Watch your mouth and stay outta this.” Zahair said in a firm tone, eyes sparking with warning. “I said he doesn’t need anything more to drink.” Looking back at his brother, he repeated himself, “You  _don’t_ need no more to drink.” 

You glanced at your watch before staring at Jakobe. “Fully stocked fridge of wine and beer. Ingredients of margaritas, tequila….”  You watched the longing build in Jakobe’s eyes and felt only disgust. 

Pity for this particular bastard had fled you years ago. 

“Help yourself.” 

Just as you predicted, Jakobe shoved his brother aside and made a beeline for the kitchen. Zahair stared after his brother’s back which is getting farther and farther away, before he looked at you, furious. Glancing in Miss Grant’s direction, you added, “No one bother Jakobe while he’s in there. Every female staff member or anyone with a vagina, pull them off the roster until he leaves the premises. Do not entertain him at all, call security as soon as he wakes, if he becomes belligerent, you have permission to call the authorities.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Carter.” Ishawna dipped her head, acknowledging the advice.

“Leave us.” Zahair ordered. 

Ishawna looked at you subtly and you inclined your head the teeniest bit. Without another word, the head housekeeper did as told. 

As soon as she left, he wasted no time, “What the fuck, Y/N?  _Seriously_.” He shook his head, pacing in a circle. “You know he has an impulse control problem.”

“Did you spend all day and night with him? Or were you with one of yo hoes?”

“How many times I gotta tell you to mind your damn business?!” He cut you an annoyed look. “I’m the fucking man of this house! I do what I want,  _when_ I want to! Stop being so insecure and trying to put me on a motherfucking schedule for when I gotta be up in here like I’m ya fucking child!”

‘So you  _were_ with one of your hoes…’ You nodded shortly. “Okay, and since you’re,” Crooking your fingers to signify air quotes, “‘The man’,” You rolled your eyes with a scoff, “Have someone else drive you to work because I’m going now. I don’t have time to waste waiting for you to get presentable.” 

“Wait…today…oh, shit…”

You’re already walking towards the front door. Waving over your shoulder, “Bye, Zahair. I’ll see you at the office.” 

“Y/N, wait…you can’t leave me! I’m presenting to the Board today! Y/N–?!”

Shutting the front door and blocking out his panicked, whining voice is so satisfying. 

Truthfully, you had zero intentions to actually leave without him, couldn’t really. It was the biggest faux pas that you could make in the company which had legit been built from the ground up between the Carter and your great great great grandfather. Presenting a united front to the masses had been drummed into your head from the moment you could walk and began to speak complete sentences. 

Glancing down at the [ring ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.hairfunk.net%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F09%2FGold-Wedding-Rings-For-Women-Cheap-16.jpg&t=MGQ2Zjk3YTc3Y2E2MzBmNmIwNTc4ODlmMTMwMmZmMjhlNTM3NzIyNCxrUDdvS1RFbA%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176393958595%2Fcaught-in-the-grey&m=1)on your finger, you sighed. 

‘Even if the vows and marriage is absolutely shoddy, I can’t just jump ship until the mandatory four years are up.’ You looked up at the sky. ‘…He’ll remember that he actually has spare suits in the locker room at work in 5…4…3…2…’

“Y/N, wai–!”

Neatly stepping to the side, you level an unimpressed stare in his direction as he’d nearly barreled into you. Coughing into his fist, he jerked his head toward where a car is parked. “Let’s go.” 

You shook your head silently, but followed after him as Zahair strutted towards the vehicle. 

What a total idiot. 

**Synergy International Co.**

**2:52 P.M.**

"And so, gentlemen,” he smiled winningly, white teeth showing as he nodded respectfully, “And ladies,” Maintaining eye contact and capturing the room’s attention easily, “This is a tried and true method…”

Truthfully, while you couldn’t stand Zahair most days, and found him utterly repulsive as a human being, you had to give him kudos for being able to schmooze and charm even the meanest and skeptical individual. He had this entire room eating out of his hand even though the two of you had arrived at the office and started the meeting right on the dot! He was already being labelled as a risk taker but since his gambles paid off, it was considered charming instead of stupid and potentially catastrophic. 

Feeling your phone buzz in your pocket, you subtly glance up at the clock on the wall, then looked around the room. The vibe was good, but there were still a couple people that needed an extra push before the meeting could be considered a success. 

Anything else could wait.

Ten minutes later, Zahair and yourself were shoulder to shoulder, shaking hands with people as they were heading for the exit. Once the final person left, you breathed out a whoosh of air, stretching your hands in the air and feeling your muscles pop. Then finally, you pulled out your cellphone, entering the numerical code to unlock the screen, pulling up the latest text.

It was from Nemiah. 

“Good news?” Zahair’s breath tickled the nape of your neck and you return the cellular device back to your pocket. Turning, you cock your hip onto the conference table, staring at him, unamused. He held his hands up defensively. “What, I’m sorry!” He shrugged. “It’s just, you were smiling and you never smile at me.” 

“Then give me a reason to smile.” You state bluntly. Zahair winced. “If I remember correctly, this is the day that you said Emiel and you planned to go golfing.”

“Bowling.” He interjected.

“Whatever. Have fun with the whole brotherly bonding exercise. The girls and I are going to be out all night most likely to celebrate Norchelle’s impending nuptials and no, you do not need to know where we’re going or doing. Do not text or call, do not show up over my mother’s or any of my friends’ parents’ house asking about my whereabouts.” Once you finished talking, you crossed your arms and stared him down. “Do you understand?”

“You’re my wife–”

“I  **said** , do you understand?” You interrupt before he can finish that hypocritical statement. 

“…Yes, I understand.”

You finger wave and turn on your heel. “Glad we had this talk!”

The rest of the day is an impromptu girls’ day, spent getting your hair, nails and feet done with your besties from middle school on up, Taccarra and Norchelle, as well as you step sister, Nemiah. Elle had absolutely no idea what y’all had planned for later this evening, just assuming that y’all wanted her to look her best and beautified for a night spent at Lou’s where new talent would rap, sing, or read poetry to the audience; it was a fairly ritualistic tradition, almost the same as getting ice cream sundaes from See You Latte on the 12th every month, barring emergencies. 

And really, you felt mildly guilty for misleading her, but she was getting married! Married and been with Andrew during sophomore and junior year in college and beyond, they were a strong unit. You just wanted her to have a little more…racy fun for once before he put a ring on it and she got trapped in a monogamous relationship. With the same man. Forever. 

‘There I go projecting again…’ 

“Guys, the blindfold is a nice touch but super unnecessary.” Norchelle complained from the back seat, reaching up to touch the strip covering her eyes. Nemiah slapped at her hands. “Ow! Hey!”

“Chill out, priss, and enjoy the mystery. Tonight is gon change yo life.” 

“I’m not a priss, I do fun things!” Norchelle pouted. “And what do you mean by that, ‘change my life’, how?” There’s silence in the car. “Guys? Did you leave, what’s going on?”

“Just that it’s going to be funfunfun!” Taccarra interjected with extra cheer in her voice. “R e l a x, boo, okay?”

“Okay then…” 

Thirty minutes later, and you’re parking. Rows and rows of cars are in every spare available parking space. The line wound from alllllll the way around the corner to the front and the entrance is blocked off by two beefy black security guards. Nemiah and Taccarra gathered Norchelle up, linking her between them, arms underneath her armpits, blindfold still around her eyes. 

You led them to the front of the line, ignoring people catching an attitude and telling you to get to the back, and when you paused in front of one security guard, you reach into your clutch then pulled out three passes. The guard looked at the passes, back at you, and then at your entourage. He raised and eyebrow and you raised one back, daring him to say something. Without another word but shaking his head, he confiscated the passes and handed four brightly colored wristbands, moving to the side for y’all to enter. 

“Have a good time.” 

As soon as you’re inside, you have to blink to readjust your sight. 

This entire place has a way, way different vibe than you’d expected. But then, you’d only heard rumors about it. Turning around, you gift a wristband to each member of your entourage and see that Taccarra finally is taking off the blindfold for Norchelle.

“Oh…my…G…gurdles.” 

Nemiah rolled her eyes as Norchelle avoided taking the Lord’s name in vain, barely. “I’m gon get some drinks. Y’all want anything?”

“Vodka.” Taccarra said instantly. “Apple green martini for me, please.” You request.

“You guys brought me to a strip club.” Norchelle sounded shell shocked and already, Taccarra is taking the lead, nudging her towards the VIP section. “You guys brought me to a strip club.”

“And not just any club, the Bare Essentials caters to high end clientele. You gotta be either a celebrity, a politician, or booku rich to get up in here, they only let maybe five or ten ‘normal’ peeps up in here per night, but we up here in the VIP sect.” Taccarra held her hand out for a high five. “Girl, you came through tonight!”

“Um, hello??” Norchelle waved her hands. “Can we get back to the fact that y’all brought me to a fucking strip club, oh wait, a  **classy** strip club, and…” her jaw goes slack as a scantily clad stripper walked by, leading a slightly tipsy lady by the hand, judging by her big ol’ koolaid smile, she knew she was ‘bout to get lucky. “Oh my gurdles. I have to get out of here.”

“Will you calm down?” You shove her back down into the plush seat. “Okay, Elle. We’re sorry that we lied to you about where we planned to take you, but we’re only doing this because you’re so straight-laced and by the book.” 

“And as your besties, we wanted you to loosen up and have some fun,” Making a cutting hand motion before Norchelle could speak up for herself, “And not just making mini cupcakes for kiddies in orphanages on the weekend, which off topic, aww, so sweet…”

“Thank you.” Norchelle puffed her chest out with pride. 

“But adult, rated x fun.” You cut in, rolling your eyes at Taccarra who shrugged, sheepish. “Just stay with us for an hour, an hour and a half tops. Have some drinks. Make fun of people. Whatever! If you don’t want to ogle the man candy, that’s cool.” You suggest to Norchelle. “Have this one illicit experience, and if you wanna tell Andrew about it later so y’all can laugh at how silly you were, then that’s alright too.” 

Norchelle is quiet for several minutes. Just when you think y’all gon have to pack it up, she sighed loudly and settled back more comfortably against the plush seating. “Oh what the hell. Fine. Boo-boo’s hairstyle that just walked by with Mr. Four Pack? That shit was terrible.” 

“Ooh, ohh, what is this? Is Priss the Church Girl talking trash about somebody?” Nemiah came back and she isn’t alone, a shirtless, muscled white guy is carrying a tray of drinks that he carefully sits down. “Thank you, Jody.” And then she smacks him on the butt, shoving a ten dollar bill into his pocket. “Keep doing squats, honey, yo ass is fab.” 

“Thank for the tip, beautiful.” ‘Jody’ winked, walking away. 

“I need a drink.” Norchelle declared, reaching out to snag an amber colored glass. 

**30 mins later**

It was chaos in the best way possible. 

Norchelle was mainly drinking and making fun of people, while Nemiah had been throwing ones and fives and twenties at strippers that did the absolute most; one had actually picked her up and brought her on stage! He let her slap him on the ass and everything, which Taccarra got it all on camera, laughing her ass off. 

And you? 

You were just basking in the feeling of a job well done. Constantly, you felt the buzz-buzz of your cellphone reverberating against your leg until you got irritated and shut it off. The strippers were great, sexy and talented and salacious. The alcohol potent and flowing freely between y’all. 

You’d give Bare Essentials a 7 out of 10. Great but it could be better. 

Just as you thought that, the music dropped to a lower bass. Some female actually started screaming and you raised your eyebrows, wondering what the fuck, because seriously…

“I know, I know.” The announcer made a settle down motion. “I know, I know, I know. Y’all been waiting all night, so patiently. Wondering if he would be here.” Someone yelled ‘fuck yea’ and the guy chuckled. “I see a few new faces, a few regulars. That’s good, that’s good that’s good. Y’all in for a treat. Get ya wallets out, put down that liquor, I want y’all wide awake and make some noise for,” 

The lights went out for a moment. Someone grabs your arm and you’re about to bop that person in the face or whatever when they come back on. 

A single person is on stage when Jamie Foxx’s Get This Money starts play. He’s a little too far away to make out what he looks like but even from the distance, you can tell he fine. 

Dark skinned and lean. Mm, mm, mm.

“I’m ‘bout to get closer. Come wit me.” Nemiah instructed, locking her arm around yours. Bitches is already swarming to the stage, throwing money at this dude. “Hurry up! I heard ‘bout this nigga and I wanna see if his dick as big as they say up close.”

Oh my God. 

So you’re dragged to the front where a whole bunch of groupies are chanting and begging to be brought on stage, someone’s throwing twenties and fifties. 

“Lemme up there an’ I’ll give you this work, King!”

Now that you’ve got a better view, you can see that your earlier assessment is right. Brotha is  _ **fine**_ , and he knows it too. He’s making the women throw all this money at him, keeping just out of reach, pulling up his white tee a little, showing off his strong abs and the V of his hips. 

Biting in your bottom lip, you struggle with an internal decision. After a minute or two, you make the choice, reaching in your clutch and pulling out a few hundred dollar bills, tossing a couple onto the stage. That’s the right thing to do because it incites the other women to throw hundreds too and he shucks off his white jacket, throwing it into the crowd, where a small batch of groupies immediately start fighting over it. 

Your eyes don’t leave him though, he’s moving so sensuously, hips thrusting and whew, you fan your face. 

It’s getting a little hot in here. 

“Do it, do it…take it off, King, take it off!” Nemiah is screaming right next to your ear, you note distantly. “Quick, sis, give me some fifties. I need to make it rain up in here.” 

The urge to laugh is difficult to suppress. Blindly, you do as she bid, more interested in the show, which is far more different than you’d been at the beginning. He’s thrusting his hips hard as fuck right now.

Say Ahh by Trey Songz starts playing and if anything, the crowd of women become even more frenzied, if possible. The small amount of money that had been thrown initially is becoming a small sea of bills; one, fives, tens, twenties, etc. 

As if to reward them, the stripper, this ‘King’ steps closer to the stage, cupping one hand to his ear, listening to the shrieking women as they chanted, begging for him to take off more of his clothes, to let them on stage. Then easy as breathing, he reached out and grabbed an average looking woman’s hand, pressing it to his chest while he rotated his hips in a slow circle, muscles flexing and his crotch brushed against her face; she looked like she was in heaven.

“Fuuuuuuck, that lucky bitch!” Nemiah groaned. “Hold my spot! I’m ‘bout to hit up that ATM.”

‘There’s an ATM in here?’ You were about to tell her that you had some extra hundred dollar bills and she didn’t have to go but she already was disappearing into the crowd. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the stage where King has pulled a girl from the crowd on stage, she’s laying flat on her back and he’s making all her wet dreams come true with how he’s throwing that ass back and dropping it on her; ole girl don’t know what to do, whether to touch or not to touch.

‘Mm, mm, mm, lucky bitch…’ 

The show continues on, getting more and more explicit, and the women more and more rabid. Security had to step in several times but it was always handled so smooth that the show didn’t have to stop, thank goodness. The show was going to it’s last leg, money had been removed from the stage and props had been added, then taken away as need. 

The King has already signaled for something and a chair is brought then sat in the middle of the stage. He’s scoping out the crowd, looking, looking, looking, and then he pauses, eyes captured on you. He beckons for you to come on, get on stage, but you shake your head. 

He beckons for you again, “Bitch, get on stage!” Nemiah hissed in your ear. 

“I’m good.” You shot back, stomach in knots. 

Eventually, he chooses someone else, being almost gentlemanly as he leads her to the chair. And then the freak comes rolling out as Do For Me by Tank plays and he braces a hand on the back of the chair, hips pressed intimately against hers, rocking in a familiar motion, it’s almost like they’re fucking on stage. This woman knows what she wants, hands on his shoulders, holding him loosely as he does his routine, mouthing the words to her. 

## I’ll make you feel like a queen  
You pick out anything I put the bag on it  
We don’t even check the tag on it  
I’m holdin’ they should throw a flag on it  
I don’t trip that I’m your paperboy  
I just wanna know what’s coming back for it  
I could make a few requests but I’d rather not have to ask you to

## Put in work  
I don’t mind a double tax if you  
Put in work  
Make a nigga double back when you  
Put in work  
Girl this ain’t no game I really blew it all for you

He’s got her spread on the stage floor, legs spread in a wide V and, oh my God, is he really ‘bout to eat her out? 

If you had pearls, you’d be clutching them right now! 

Lucky, lucky bitch. 

“That coulda been you, sis!” Nemiah bemoaned. 

You don’t, or rather, can’t, answer. Because although his face is in between another woman’s thighs right on stage in front of hundreds of people and ol’ girl is lookin’ like she ‘bout to straight up buss if she ain’t already, it doesn’t matter. He’d shifted just a little and he’s looking right at you, a subtle challenge in his stare. Although he was playin’ with the chick on stage, the one he really wanted was you, it was clear. 

…This man is trouble. 

Big, big trouble, you decided after another moment’s deliberation, feeling the stirring of desire rush through you, making your panties wet. 


	4. Chapter Three

**January 2nd, 2016  
Bare Essentials Mens Washrooms  
4:12 A.M.**

Every part of T’Challa’s body ached. 

People thought it was an easy thing, being a stripper. 

‘Exotic dancer’, his mind supplied, trying to put a positive spin on things, but the cynical part won out, at least this time. Truthfully, he could honestly say he didn’t care for the negative connotations surrounding his secondary source of income because only he truly knew himself and what he was about. 

Most people thought being a stripper was about being sexy or beautiful and looking good on stage, and yes, a small percentage is about that. However, what no one took into account is the fact that he spent a great deal of personal time in the gym to maintain his physique, paying out of pocket for sessions to actually  **learn** these dances which would give him the extra flexibility to pull off some of the routines he did, etc. 

Shaking his head slightly, as if to physically shake the bad thoughts away, he resolved to let it go, only to feel a dull throbbing beginning to form in his temples. The only thing he had to look forward to right now is getting clean and that the showers were blessedly empty. Striding forward, he turned the knobs for hot and cold water, backing away before a jet stream of icy cold water could splash him in the face. Once the water turned to a warmer temperature, he turned the hot water knob even more until the water became almost scalding.  

‘Perfect.’

Turning his face up to the spray, eyes closed, he enjoyed the feeling of the water on his face, shoulders and neck, trickling through his curls and falling down his back. 

The tension that’d gathered in his muscles is slowly easing and after a minute or two, T’Challa opened the small box which contained his own bar of soap that he’d brought from home, turning the box upside down and letting gravity do its thing as the soap bar fall into the rag that he held in his hand. 

Folding both halves of the rag closed, he rubbed the bar under the stream of water in repetitive motions until the rag becomes soapy and then begins cleaning himself off, section by section, until every inch of him is covered in bubbles then he rinses off. 

He does this process twice more before feeling relatively clean.

Steam had filled every corner of the bathroom and the water’s gotten cold when he turns the knobs until they made a squeaky sound and the water cut off. Grabbing his towels, he dried off and then wrapped one towel around his waist, the other around his neck, heading for the door which led to the locker room.

Padding over to the bench, he sat down and reached out, twisting the knob of his combination locker right twice and on the third turn stopped on 4, left once and on the second turn paused on the number one, the spun the combination to to the number 2, and then pulled, the lock unclicking itself, which he then pulled free, setting it on the bench beside him; inside the locker are some comfortable clothes and skin care products. 

Once he’s moisturized and lotioned down, he dressed in more [casual clothing](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fcdn02.cdn.justjared.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fheadlines%2F2018%2F04%2Fchadwick-boseman-lunch-with-friend.jpg&t=YmZkZTM2NTEwYTg1NDI3M2YzOTQyOWFiNzI3OGI5YmE1YzUwNDQ4Nixmc2Z6M3BZYQ%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F177902511180%2Fcaught-in-the-grey&m=1). Grabbing his bathing items, he stashed them in his book bag to be washed later and slung it over his shoulders, rolling his shoulders a bit until he heard a soft crack. Loosened up and fresh and clean, he padded out of the wash rooms, the door closing behind him silently. Making a sharp left, he walked down the long hallway until he saw the doorway at the end, picking up his stride. 

“Morning, T.” The person sweeping the floors is a middle aged black man with salt and pepper hair, his beard short and neat, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Or should I be saying ‘Good night?’ to ya?”

“Eh.” T’Challa made a so-so gesture. “I have to be at work soon,” The older male made an appropriate noise of distaste. “Thank you for asking, Mr. Jones.” 

“Reggie.”

“Mr. Reggie.” T’Challa amended, a brief smile quirking his lips upward at the grumble he received for his cheeky response. “I’m just going to pick my check up. See you tomorrow night.” 

“Don’t forget to get some sleep when you can!”

Waving over his shoulder one final time, he raised his voice as he ascended the stairs, taking two at a time. “I definitely will! Thanks for the advice!” On the last step, there’s a small office and he can see through the little window, a beautiful dark skin woman with short black hair in an afro, she’s typing on her computer and a cup of coffee is at her elbow. 

Tapping his finger on the glass, he waits until she crooked her finger in a ‘come here’ gesture, then he twisted the knob. It’s locked. He glances at her again, and she straightens her finger. He hears a buzz and tries the door again, this time it unlocks. Stepping inside, T’Challa closes the door behind him. “You should really do something about the door sticking. What if there’s a fire?”

“Ah,” Standing up, she half wraps her arms around him in a hug. “You adorable worrywart. It’s still so funny that you pretend this door wasn’t fixed in ‘08.” Pulling out her desk drawer, revealing pens, paper clips, and other knick knacks, right there on top is an envelope, which she hands to him. 

“How is your mother and sister?”

“Good as always.” T’Challa replied, opening the envelope right then and there and glanced at the check’s amount. He’s satisfied with what it says and reseals the envelope. “You should come and have dinner with us once in awhile, Nakia.” 

“I was over there last…” Snapping her fingers, she attempted to jog her memory. “Tuesday.” Nakia’s eyes brightened as the answer finally came to her. “Shuri wanted to gush about her latest invention.”

Involuntarily, T’Challa feels a bit guilty. That used to be a bonding activity that they did before… ‘Before Baba died and the bills became too steep for Mama to carry that burden alone.’ 

Nakia can sense the turn his thoughts had gone. “Hey, hey! No thinking bad about yourself. You’re a good big brother, one of the best. Shuri is a smart girl, she knows that you’ve got a lot on your plate and she’s not begrudging you,” Here her fingers crooked, “‘Taking extra hours at the hospital’.”

That cheered him up marginally, at least enough for him to smile. “Thanks for having my back all the time.” 

She waved him off, an amused smirk on her lips, “Don’t worry. I’ll think of someway for you to return the favor.” Turning her attention back to the computer, she added, “Now get out of here! Your shift at the hospital starts in a couple  hours or so, right?”

“Bossy.” T’Challa commented, half out the door.

“Flirt.” Nakia retorted, just before the door closed. 

T’Challa returned to the ground floor, striding towards the exit and is about to pass the bar when the two remaining bartenders, possibly just starting their shift, or about to get off work too, when [someone ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fpre00.deviantart.net%2F8526%2Fth%2Fpre%2Fi%2F2011%2F148%2Fe%2F0%2Fpretty_black_woman_by_taylortheblondeone-d3hgtrc.jpg&t=NDNmNGYzMTI3NWY3ZjM4OTg4NWFjNTMzMzQ2MWE3YjEzZjczYWU4Nyxmc2Z6M3BZYQ%3D%3D&b=t%3APwauZoCL8-SYTxdcS3Xtdw&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftchalla-after-dark.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F177902511180%2Fcaught-in-the-grey&m=1)called out to him. Pausing in his stride, he turned and gave the duo his attention, “Hi Mimi.” 

Mimi raised a hand briefly, her gaze meeting his briefly before looking down and away. He never really could get her to say much more than a ‘hi’ and that was only occasionally, which is a shame because it seemed like she always wanted to talk to him or say something. 

“What’s up?” Turning his attention to the person who’d called him, he frantically searched his memory for her name, she’d only been here a few weeks. “Deya, right?”

Nodding, pleased that he remembered her name, Deya opened her mouth and said, “You’re getting off work right now, right?” Not letting him talk, she continued on to say, “Me too. And I heard that your car’s in the shop. I can give you a ride home.”

“That’s nice of you, but…” T’Challa hesitated, only to blink in surprise when Deya reached out, boldly touching his hand, fingers tracing over his knuckles. He swallowed as she leaned her elbows on the counter, leaning towards him; the motion provocative and teasing. 

“Let me be a nice co-worker and help you out? I’d feel bad if you had to catch an Uber.” 

T’Challa mulled it over briefly, then mentally said fuck it. “If you insist.”

Deya smiled with triumph. “Great! Let’s go~”

Neither of them caught how thunderous Mimi looked before she turned away, clutching a glass tightly in her hand. Or how she seemed to be thinking about something deeply, the expression wiped off her face quickly and she waved at them both as they left. 


End file.
